Chapbook Tales
by She Who Loves Pineapples
Summary: A collection of completely unrelated one-shots featuring the Forgotten Realms setting.
1. The Weakness of Vierna Do'Urden

**Author's Note: This is where I'm going to post any Dungeons and Dragons/Forgotten Realms one-shots. None of them are related to each other. This first one is about Vierna since I'm inexplicably obsessed with her, but other chapters will be about other characters or OCs. The Brimstone Angels series is my favorite Forgotten Realms series, so a lot of these will probably end up being about those books. **

Vierna's hatred of Zaknafein was impossible to satisfy.

It was bitterly ironic, to so deeply hate someone who was already dead. No hope of vengeance could arise from that hatred, it was to burn endlessly. Even the memory of his death was unsatisfying. The sacrifice had been merciful; far quicker than he'd have gotten in the battle that might have happened had the natural consequences of his foolishness been given time to play out. He hadn't even screamed.

Drizzt had screamed, when he'd been told of Zaknafein's fate. But she'd raised him from infancy, and his screams grated on her, made her feel like she was obligated to end them. It was not a pleasurable sound, when Drizzt screamed.

He'd been looking for Zaknafein when they told him, the stupid boy. Even if the circumstances had been different, if he hadn't brought on the wrath of Lolth with his cowardice, he was a fool for being so open about his... _alliance_ with Zaknafein. Did he really think no one would figure out they were plotting something? Drizzt had even been brazen enough to ignore direct questions from Matron Malice, so preoccupied he had been with his ally. He couldn't have made it more obvious.

At best, it was weakness. And weakness was an exposed carthoid on the body of their house. At worst, it was a direct threat. Had the males been planning all along to abandon their house in its time of need, perhaps, even, to openly rebel?

She didn't know. It didn't matter. They were both gone now, Zaknafein to Lolth and Drizzt to the unknown. What they had been planning did not matter.

And yet she wondered, and she hated them for leaving her wondering. Each possibility could have counted as a separate crime against House Do'Urden, deserving of a separate unattainable revenge.

Sometimes she tried to call the sacrifice back to memory, to glimpse the few seconds of anguish Zaknafein surely must have felt as the knife twisted into his heart. But she could never retrieve that moment from the dark crevice her mind must have stored it in. She could only remember what came before. The calm. His smug voice. Like he thought he'd won something.

But more often when she thought of Zaknafein's last days, what came to mind was what she'd seen when scrying the evening before; his last sparring match with Drizzt. Flashing of the swords, blurs of heat, the rage –Drizzt's rage had been enough to make her proud, but then Drizzt had made his blasphemous confession and both males had dropped their weapons.

They should have ended the scrying after Drizzt confessed. They'd needed to see nothing else. But Vierna had watched on, seen the males running to each other with swords dangling at their sides, crying, embracing. They'd held each other like _roth__é._ Cattle. Those animals coddled their young and embraced them. Spiders did not. Not even male spiders.

Male spiders were killed before the children they sired were even born. If only the same had been done to Zaknafein.

But Zaknafein had lived to influence Vierna even beyond the foul blood he'd tainted her with (and she _knew _he was her sire; it was obvious, but that didn't mean she was foolish enough to acknowledge it.) He'd trained _her_, too. Not as extensively as he'd trained Drizzt, of course. She was a female, meant for the clergy, not as fodder for patrols. Maybe that was why Zaknafein, despite trying to claim her as a daughter, never looked at her the way he looked at Drizzt. Why every smile he'd cast her way had flattened itself into an appropriate scowl almost before she could detect it. Still, he'd trained her, and he'd tainted her with those fleeting smiles.

She'd craved his smiles once.

The first had been early on, an agility exercise; Vierna had been lightly armored but unarmed, and Zaknafein wielding blunt imitations of his favored weapons. Her goal was to dodge, and she'd already had the wind knocked out of her once. The blunts neared her sternum, she ducked, and the blow meant for her armored torso came down across her face.

She'd awoken, only minutes later, with a gashed head, fewer teeth than she was used to, and warm sticky blood in her eyes. Someone squeezed her shoulder, and even had she been able to see Zaknafein at that moment it probably wouldn't have occurred to her that the battle was over. She twisted Zaknafein's arm as she sprung to her feet, and though he easily restrained her, when she blinked her eyes clear it was a smile they opened to. It was so unlike anything she'd ever seen. When she rubbed her eyes it was gone, Zak's manner restored to its usual gruffness.

But he would smile again, always when she surprised him. When he pounced on her suddenly to catch her off-guard, only for her to parry at the last second, without even thinking about it. When she mastered her step to the point that _she_ almost caught _him_ off guard. With fear of punishment being the only extrinsic motivation she'd known, a smile had seemed a momentous reward.

She'd bisected pillows she imagined as members of enemy houses. She made the common soldiers spar with her; she boasted of all the surface elves she would kill in the name of Lolth.

Punishment had been the better motivator, in the end. It was guaranteed. Reward was not. The harder she tried to impress him, the colder Zaknafein's gaze grew. By the time she returned home from school, she was just another cleric to him. If he could get away with it, he would have gladly killed her in cold blood.

She was not angry about that. She was angry that there had ever been warmth.

More than anything, the warmth had fed the weakness that grew in her like a parasite–Vierna's inexplicable inclination towards mercy, the instinct to soften up around those smaller than her.

As a child she'd been a sniveling little thing, flinching at violence, balking at blood. Even stories of war had made her shudder. She'd learned to hide it, but Matron Malice and her sister Briza had not forgotten. They still searched for it in her.

Drizzt had been a test, she suspected. Matron Malice had asked her to raise him because she wanted to know if she could harden herself enough to teach a male-child his place. Had she failed, the consequences to both herself and Drizzt would have been dire. But she'd been determined not to fail.

She'd hated holding the boy. But his crying had been insufferable, and he'd cried when she didn't hold him, so she'd always had to carry him around for hours, feeling his warmth against her, his softness, his breath. She knew how it made her look to be coddling a baby. But what was she to do? When he was older she could threaten and beat him for crying, but a baby could not be reasoned with in such a way. Even a swat on the ear just set him off crying more. So she had to coddle him, and avoid being seen coddling him, and fight off the urge to hold him even closer and press her mouth to his forehead, between those pretty purple eyes.

Zaknafein had undone the work she'd put into raising Drizzt. All those years spent putting the boy in his place, only for him to be snatched from her control and placed into _his_. Of course the stubborn child would forget what she'd taught him under the stewardship of that rebellious male.

She was glad, at least, that all of Drizzt's failures were blamed on Zaknafein and not her. The first time Drizzt had talked back to Matron Malice she'd been terrified of the consequences she would face. She'd _told _him to stay in his place, but of course, he hadn't listened and it would be her fault for not making the point clearly enough. Luckily, that incident had blown over, and his further transgressions were so clearly a mirror of Zaknafein's that no one thought of _her_ influence on the boy. But it had been a terrifying few weeks, when she'd first relinquished control of the boy-child, knowing she'd still face the consequences for his actions.

Not even the academy had been able to undo Zaknafein's influence on Drizzt. She thought of his graduation ceremony. She'd been watching him from the mezzanine. He had a reputation, even among her peers, as the strongest of the males. She'd been glad that he, like Vierna, had overcome his weakness enough to become a real warrior. And then she watched as he, in full view of all Vierna's peers, turned and ran out of the ceremony. Because he "cared nothing for" the cleric who'd claimed him.

She'd tried to help him, tried to buy him another chance to come back inside. They wouldn't have thought much of it if he'd only agreed he preferred privacy and had been startled. What else did he expect? He was a male, he had no right to refuse a cleric; why hadn't he learned that yet?

And she hated the way he looked at her when she explained that to him, like it was _her _fault. She hated the disgust in his eyes, the disgust aimed at _her_, when he asked her if _she _had ever had "such an experience." His disgust should have been his own problem, not hers. It was his fault for being surprised about such a thing. She was a _priestess. _Her graduation ceremony had been years before.

And yet, his foolish comment had stung. Because _she_, in her graduation ceremony, her first time, would have preferred privacy. She had not enjoyed the screams of her "honored" classmate as the demon took her, her nakedness in the presence of the peers she'd long  
known not to trust, the male–she didn't even know his name–grasping at her hungrily as though she was there for his benefit and not the other way around; she hated the sickening smell of the aphrodisiacal magic. It clouded her mind to the point of near-immobility; it made her feel not like the mighty female spider or even the disposable male spider, but like one of many helpless flies caught in the spider's web.

But she'd stayed. She'd stayed, and she pretended to like it long enough to convince herself she did, because she knew how to survive in this world.

That was what she hated most. Vierna had a weakness, a weakness she shared with her sire and brother. But Vierna overcame it, and they hadn't. She'd flinched the first time she witnessed a slaying, but Briza had whipped her and she'd resolved to keep a straight face next time. Her knife-holding hand had trembled the first time she'd cut into drow flesh, but Matron Malice had rebuked her, and she'd resolved to keep her hand steady next time. She learned, and they didn't, and they had the gall to judge her for it, to think _she _was the weak one.

Impudent males, blinded to their own stupidity. She hated them.

And she hated that Zaknafein had seen the weakness in her eyes as she bound him to the altar. He'd seen that nostalgia (which she hated) and that sympathy (which she _hated_) and she'd been thinking of Drizzt that day, and their happiness the day before, and the disgusting embrace. The strange, uneasy _longing_ intermingled with that disgust. "Don't cry for me, daughter," he'd said.

"Take your lies to your grave," she'd hissed back; how dare he make this harder for her, even now, as powerless as he could ever be? How dare he endanger her further by drawing further attention to her flaw?

"Deny it all you want," he said, serenely. She'd never seen a death so serene. No screaming, no rage, not even resignation – peace.

His soul knew no peace with Lolth, she knew. And Drizzt's inevitable death in the Underdark would surely be long and merciless. She knew it, and she reminded herself of it; her father and brother, those most hated enemies, were suffering endlessly for their weakness. Surely by now, in their torture, they had realized why she was smart and they were foolish. And that thought should have satisfied her.

But it didn't.


	2. Define

**Author's note: based off the Brimstone Angels series, set shortly after the end of The Devil You Know. Please someone tell me if i spelled Remsy's name wrong; I don't have the books and can't fact check. This story is for the 12 shots of summer challenge; the prompt was "define." **

"I know what you're thinking," said Havilar. "You're wondering why I'm not more motherly."

"Why would I think that?" asked Brin. "You're not his mother."

But the readiness of his answer only proved that he had, in fact, been wondering what Havilar accused him of wondering, enough that he'd come up with an answer to his own question. It surprised him sometimes of how well Havilar could read him. Farideh was the twin who was better at reading people in general, who could anticipate people's expectations and comply with or subvert them to her desire. Havilar, never far from Farideh's side, seemed dense in contrast. But when she knew you, when she loved you or hated you or both, she could read you.

She went over to sit next to him on the patch of grass beside the rather uncomfortable rock he'd selected as his guard post. "You should sleep," he told her. "It's my watch."

She stretched out into a half-bridge pose, facing up towards the stars with her hands behind her holding her up. "I can sleep here. It'll be a warm night." Her eyes fell on Remsy only a few feet away, who was curled up on his bedroll, sucking his thumb, with his tail curled around him as if it were an external being, embracing him. Zoonie was nearby, not touching him but guarding, though her eyes remained fixed on Havilar, as if waiting for permission to leave. It had been Zoonie's job to lay with Remsy every night until he fell asleep.

She wasn't his mother, but she was getting attached. Even though she didn't act like it. Even though she'd just let him arm wrestle her five times in a row until he cried in frustration over it, then sent him to bed with a "bedtime story" which was just a few pages of the (_not _child-friendly) chapbook she'd brought along for herself.

"Do you want to have kids?" Havilar asked him.

A few years ago – who was he kidding, a few _weeks _ago – Brin would have turned red and spat about being asked such a thing. Now he only turned to face her, meeting her intense, silver gaze. He tried to keep his own expression lighter. "Sure," he said, "Someday. If you do. Do you?"

"I don't know," said Havilar. She turned away, looking back up at the moon. "I mean, I feel a lot better about having kids now that I know I wouldn't be setting them up to be possessed by my great-great-grandma or whatever. But, do I actually _want _kids?" She left her own question unanswered.

"We have plenty of time to figure that out," Brin reasoned.

"Yeah," said Havilar. "Just – not as much as we would've, y'know? I dunno. Life is weird when you go to sleep when you're seventeen and then you wake up and you're twenty-three."

Brin's face soured. He still didn't like to think about those years. Ironically, Havilar had gotten over it easier than he had. She may have been in hell for all those years but she'd gotten to sleep through it. Brin had to be awake for his own, metaphorical, years in hell. The guilt, the wondering. Seeing Mehen, Havilar's father, go through the stages of grief without ever knowing if he should be grieving. Growing close to Mehen, in their mutual grief, Mehen having lost his children and Brin having lost a father. But knowing, and accepting, that Mehen would have traded Brin's life to have his daughters back without question. Being okay with that, because he, too, would have traded his own life away to save Havilar, to put an end to the torturous wondering.

"I think it would be different," Havilar announced without prompting, "if I had my own kid. I mean. If he was going to be my own kid to raise his whole life. I think I'd be more motherly."

Brin raised his eyebrows. "There's nothing wrong with how you're being right now," he said. He didn't know what Havilar's interpretation of "motherly" was, but he was sure it would be more arm-wrestles than lullabies.

"I know," said Havilar, somewhat defensively, "I just mean like, if I were his mother I'd want to pass a lot of things down. I'd teach him Draconic, and ancestor stories, and of course I'd teach him to fight." It seemed like she had more to add but she stayed silent. When Brin was about to open his mouth to respond, Havilar added, "But I feel like, I can't teach all that to someone else's kid and then leave."

Now Havilar seemed to be the one lost in the memories. Her lips were shut firmly tight, as though trying to withhold a burst of emotion. Zoonie's ears went up as she watched her master with concern.

So, this wasn't about concern for their future, not really. It was about Arjani.

"Who says you have to leave?" asked Brin.

Havilar looked at him as though he was crazy.

"I know, I know, he needs to be with his parents," said Brin, waving his hand as though to blow away her worries. "I'm not suggesting we kidnap him; I'm not even suggesting we hang around after we leave him with his family – but who says we can't ever see him again after that? There are letters, sendings…"

"Would that be right?" Havilar asked. "Farideh said his parents were terrified. She said they thought she was his mother coming to take him away and that it looked like that was their greatest nightmare come alive to haunt them. I don't…" A pause. "I don't want to scare them. I don't want to be their greatest nightmare. And I don't want to make Remsy even _want _to see me again after this if it's not going to happen." Another pause. "Not that I haven't thought about it. In Arush Vayem, there was this girl that got pregnant when she was, like, thirteen, and her parents took the baby and the girl called her son her little brother. I don't know how to be a mother, but I know how to be a sister."

Brin thought about how to respond for what felt like a long time, Havilar watching him with the same intensity with which Zoonie was watching her, like she had to know what his next words would be before he said them. He reached a hand around her shoulders, coaxing her to him. She leaned her head against his leg, which, due to the height of his perch was level with her. She maintained eye contact with Brin, though, instead of relaxing as he hoped she would.

"Look," said Brin, "The way I see it, I don't need to define these things. The King always wanted to have me _officially _in the family somehow, you know? Either as officially his son-in-law or officially his nephew, that was a big deal to him. I'm not the same way. I'm just Brin. So, for you and Remsy? You can be a mother, you can be a sister. Or both, or something else, or nothing."

Havilar leaned into him a little closer. "Yeah," she said, "I guess. I guess it shouldn't matter, but it still feels like I should know because I'm the adult and it's my job to help Remsy understand. Even though I'm sure he does; he's not stupid."

She was talking to herself, not him, Brin knew. Brin and Havilar both stared at Remsy now. Zoonie misinterpreted this as them staring at her, and trotted over to join them.

They sat in contentment like that, a family, even if it wasn't a _family -_family they were family by shared experiences. He trusted Havilar more than anyone; that wouldn't change even if they never had children or got married or stayed together.

They might have been an entirely different family, Brin realized, if Havilar and Farideh had never been stolen away to the hells. He thought of the way royalty was _supposed_ to deal with their extramarital offspring in Cormyr; _that _was a sobering thought. Remsy would have grown up in constant terror of being assassinated, just like he had. Either that, or he'd have to go completely unacknowledged; if Brin so much as sent him a few coins on his birthday, and anyone found out, the rumors would spread through the whole country. Or Havilar might have taken the tea instead. Remsy might not have been born at all.

Brin didn't know what time would bring. But, here, safe at last with Havilar at his side, and herself, and all the time and freedom in the world to build a future with her, Brin was, for the first time, glad things had worked out the way they had.


	3. The Locket

**Author's Note: This story is also for the 12 Shots of Summer challenge; the prompt was "open." **

**My D&D group is going through the Waterdeep: Dragon Heist campaign module right now. The main character of this one-shot, Adora/Adriel/Addy, is my back-up character in case the character I'm currently using in the campaign dies. **

**This story was fun to write because I pretty much knew the beginning and ending and everything was completely pants'd besides that. I don't and can't usually write something this long and plot-focused without planning (or even with) so I had fun not knowing what was going to happen. Even though that means it turned out kinda rough and I'll probably have to edit this later like a lot. **

Once upon a time, a beautiful princess met a handsome prince at a ball and they fell in love. Truthfully, the princess was actually a janitor, and the prince was actually a lowborn man from a land far away whose current job was to dress up in a sausage-shaped mascot costume and pass out samples of sausage to passersby in order to draw customers to the city's newest butcher shop. The "ball" was actually the karaoke night at a local tavern, and they hadn't truly intended to fall in love for more than a night, but why let those kinds of details get in the way of a beautiful story?

Even though the princess and the prince hadn't meant to see each other again, the goddess Sune must have known that they were meant to be together, and blessed them with a child in spite of their precautions. The princess realized she was carrying a child and sought out the prince, which was not difficult as few people roam the streets of Waterdeep in a sausage-shaped mascot costume. Together, they discussed the possible outcomes. They didn't agree on everything at first, but they did agree on the most important thing: that they would love the child forever, no matter what. From that principle, they took the child's name: Adora.

As Adora grew, so did the new family's excitement. The prince and the princess, both twenty-somethings from less-than-fully-functional families, finally found in each other, and in Adora, a genuine and selfless love. Finally, it came the day that Adora was to be born. But the joyful day soon turned to tragedy: the child was stillborn.

The parents were grief-stricken. All their hopes had been aborted as well. They cried for a day. And then they realized: even though they'd lost one baby, they could have another. They didn't have to bring a child into the world to have a family: there were children already here, children who needed a loving family even more than the prince and princess did.

So they went to the orphanage where there were lots of beautiful children. They explained their situation to the caretaker, and the caretaker mentioned that, coincidentally, a child had been left at the orphanage just that day. It had been left with a blanket and a strange necklace, a heart-shaped locket. This locket took its name more seriously than most lockets, in the sense that it was actually locked – one would need some kind of key to open it. No key had been left with it. "But," said the caretaker hesitantly, "you probably don't want that child. She's… well." Rather than say the words, she went into the other room to return with a beautiful, shale-skinned, white-haired, pointy-eared baby. A half-Drow baby. "In fact, we don't know what to do with her," the caretaker continued. "It seems harsh, but… What if she endangers the other children? Some of us think it would be best to leave her in the woods."

The prince and the princess were shocked to hear such a cruel thing about a child – _their _child. They signed the paperwork, took the child home, and wrote a strongly-worded letter.

This book is about you, Adora. This is the story of how we met. You are the keystone of our family, and we love you so much.

Love,

Mom & Dad

Gingerly, the misty-eyed middle-aged human lady closed the book. Ugh. Adriel (she _refused _to be called Adora; it was such a prissy name – she didn't know if Adriel was really a Drow name but it sounded _way _cooler than _Adora)_ hated that book – she had only brought it along in case it contained any evidence that she had overlooked, but since she was now homeless she had to carry it everywhere, and it made her sick looking at it. What had her mother been thinking when she wrote that book for her as a "gift"? Who would want to read about their parents hooking up in a tavern?

"I – I don't know what to tell you, dear," said the lady. They were sitting in the shade on the orphanage balcony. "I've worked here for decades, and I don't remember you. And I'm certain we would never - " She looked Adriel up and down, then cleared her throat. "What the caretaker in the book said was horrible. We don't condone that kind of thinking here at this establishment – _every _child is welcome here."

Adriel's face heated. She didn't want this lady's pity. "Whatever, lady. I already know I belong in the darkness." She turned her head to the side and let the collar of her trench coat billow dramatically in the wind. "I just wondered if anyone had come back with the key. If not, I'll just move on to the next orphanage." Adriel's stupid adoptive mother hadn't even mentioned _which _stupid orphanage they'd gotten her from. There were a _lot _of orphanages in Waterdeep. So far, Adriel had been to seven. She'd received varying degrees of pity, suspicion, and curiosity. From this orphanage, she'd received all that, and some lemonade and cookies. But she hadn't received a key, or even so much as a hint.

"Might I ask, sweetheart," said the caretaker as she held the book out for Adriel to take, "why you're seeking your birth parents out now? Is your adoptive family not well?"

Adriel snatched the book away and shoved it into her coat pocket. "I belong in the darkness," she repeated. "I'm looking for someone who understands me." She turned and walked away, feeling the caretaker's eyes on her as she headed off for the next orphanage.

"A drow?" said the half-orc. "Well, the only Drow I really see 'round here is the one that likes to hang around the Skewered Dragon."

Adriel's ears perked up. She'd been to twenty-six orphanages so far, and either she'd overlooked one or every single employee in the orphanage she'd come from was lying. None remembered her. With no other leads, she'd resorted to asking strangers if they knew any Drow. The answer for most of them had been, "No, and get away from me!" Asking tieflings and half-orcs had, generally, yielded more polite responses. But there weren't many of them, and they hadn't been helpful. Until now.

"Skewered dragon?" Adriel repeated.

"Yeah," said the half-orc. "It's a tavern. There's this cloaked fella that's always there. One night it was real windy, and I saw the cloaked fella's hood blow off. Then I noticed the skin tone. It was a Drow all right. Right, Isaac?"

"Not just dark skin!" chimed in the half-orc's friend, a haggard-looking Halfling man. "That Drow is covered in tattoos of eyes! You know what that means." His eyes narrowed at Adriel. "Stay away from that one, little girl. Men like that are dangerous!"

Adriel bristled. It was so unfair to judge someone over something stupid, like tattoos! Adriel did not have any tattoos yet, since her stupid parents who didn't understand anything wouldn't sign a consent form, but she planned to get her first one the minute she came of age. Therefore, she took the Halfling's remarks as a personal offense as she slinked off into the darkness.

The Drow always kept his hood up. Adriel, too, kept her cloak pulled over her face as much as she could. Not only did it radiate the aura of mystery in her soul, it also kept him from noticing her features before she was ready to see him.

Adriel didn't know when she'd be ready.

She'd spent every day at the Skewered Dragon tavern since she'd gotten her lead. It wasn't like she had anything else to do or anywhere else to go. Her birthday money (that she was supposed to put in her savings account but had rebelliously pocketed), which had seemed like such a momentous amount, had gone fast. Most of it had been spent, foolishly, on a cute black faux-corset top. Except it hadn't been so cute when she actually put it on. Since Adriel did not have the same skinny waist and large breast as the mannequin, the top, having been designed to show off such assets, now emphasized Adriel's lack of them. The matching cloak had been a better purchase. It kept her warm, sleeping on the cold hostel floor.

The Drow was a quiet man. She never heard him speak from where she was sitting, even with her superior Drow hearing. His lips didn't appear to move much, either. Even though he always sat next to the same, small rotation of people (many of which also wore hoods and, curiously, had similar tattoos of eyes) he didn't speak to them.

There was no one with him this time. He sat by himself. Adriel thought it might be a good time to talk to him - but found she couldn't bring herself to do it. What if she was wrong? Then she'd be back to square one, with no leads.

She stayed put at let time dwindle by, until suddenly, her mother's voice resounded through her head. "Adora! If you can hear this, please, say something!"

She jumped out of her stool. Her eyes searched the room for the source of the voice when she realized it came from her own head. _A sending_, she realized; her mother had paid for a sending just to yell at her. Ugh. Typical. She wanted to yell back, but she'd look crazy. She whispered, so deeply under her breath that hopefully no one but her mother could here her, "Shut up, Mom!"

A sob. "It's her!" her mom cried, probably to her dad, then said, "Adora, sweetie, where are you? Waterdeep? We'll come get you no matter where you are! I promise we won't be mad!"

Her mom sounded so pitiful that Adriel almost softened. But she wouldn't let herself give in. Her parents had promised a lot of things. Like, they'd promised her a new dress for her birthday, and they'd gotten a _pink _dress. They hadn't even bothered to remember that her favorite color was now black to match the blackness in her soul, and hadn't been pink since two years ago when she was _eleven_. They didn't care about her at all.

"I have no need of your promises!" Adriel said poetically. "As far as where I am? Why does that matter, when our souls are too –"

Something sizzled in her head. The sending had faded. It had cut her off mid-sentence.

When she left the tavern to spend the rest of her money at the hostel, and turned the corner into a quiet alleyway, a shadow jumped out at her and pinned her to the wall.

Adriel gasped. "Help!" she started to cry, but a dark hand quickly clasped over her mouth. Another hand slammed her against a brick wall.

"Who are you!? Why have you been watching me!?" a male voice boomed. Adriel blinked tears out of her eyes and stared.

It was the Drow. Adriel hyperventilated. The Drow yanked Adriel's hood off and removed his hand from his mouth so she could answer his question.

"D-Father!?" Adriel cried out. Her first instinct, she realized with embarrassment, had been to cry out "Daddy" - not because she'd ever call this Drow that, but because she used to always run to her adoptive father when she was scared.

He said something in Drow language in the tone of voice one might use to say "What the hell?"

Adriel blinked away the frightened tears and stumbled through the explanation she'd rehearsed. "I- I'm looking for my birth parents. You were my only lead."

The Drow stared at her with a mix of suspicion and bewilderment. "You think I'm your father?"

"I - I was left at an orphanage here when I was only a day old. My parents left me with this necklace - " she tried to gesture towards it with her neck, because her hands with still restrained - "and no key to open it with. I was adopted, but - I'm trying to find my real parents. I'm hoping that whoever they are, they'll be the one person who can actually understand me."

The Drow let go of her, so she was no longer pinned to the wall, and stared, as if she was speaking a foreign language he barely understood and it was taking time to mentally translate her words. After a long pause, he asked, "How old are you?"

"Thirteen."

The Drow's tar-black face turned pale grey. Now it was his turn to hyperventilate. "It can't be," he muttered under his breath. "Isibeal?"

Isibeal? Adriel thought. Was that _her _name? Her _real _name?

"Who - ?" Adriel began.

"Ssh!" He put a finger to his lips. "Not here. Come with me."

Once upon a time, there were two Drow brothers, Sapiqu the elder and Xaar the younger. Now, usually friendship doesn't amount to much among the Drow, but where Drow nobles, always under the scrutiny of Lolth, cannot hide such things as friendships, commoners such as the Drow brothers could behave more deviously so long as they were subtle. Thus the brothers, close in age, became good friends and allies.

They always knew they were to be common soldiers for the house they served when they were old enough, and they spent their childhoods practicing together. When it was time to join the ranks for real, both soon became known for their skill.

But their talent, as it turned out, was a curse. It wasn't long before they drew the attention of their house's matron mother, Matron Nouzqa. Matron Nouzqa wanted to see them fight, with a special reward for the winner: whoever won the match would become the new house patron.

Matron Nouzqa had a habit of keeping her patrons around for about a year before growing bored and torturing them to death.

The brothers found a pair of low-ranking wizards who thought they were getting a good deal with the brothers, who now had a fifty percent chance of becoming a house patron, offered to switch places with them. The wizards splurged their savings on enough ingredients for at least two of them to be able to make disguise potions for a lifetime, and gladly presented themselves to Matron Nouzqa for the duel. The brothers, however, knew that the ruse wouldn't last long, and fled to the surface (along with the disguise potion, which they knew would come in handy.)

Of course, these brothers had nowhere to go on the surface world, no home or community that would accept them, and even with a disguise potion preventing the worst of the prejudice they would have otherwise face, neither man knew how to survive in this strange land. The only skill they had was combat. But they soon found a group of people that would reward them for their combat skills: the Zhentarim.

However, before they could reap the full benefits of membership in the Zhentarim, they had to complete an initiation ritual. Get close to an enemy, a young half-elf named Isibeal who had recently been uncovered as a member of the rival faction, the Harpers. Learn everything they could. Then, at last, move in for the kill.

The art of lying came naturally to the brothers after living in the Drow city. It was particularly easy to lie in this strange world, where most people didn't automatically suspect every other person, stranger and lover alike, of treachery. They "coincidentally" ran into Isibeal at a small craft fair, so small that it was conducted in a primary school's gymnasium and populated solely by the artisans and their supportive family members. Isibeal was an aspiring jeweler, a talented metalworker trying to build up her reputation by assisting a popular armorer, making her art with the scraps of metal the armorer didn't need.

Xaar, in particular, found that it wasn't difficult to appear to be in awe over the young artist's creations. She made such beautiful, detailed things with fingers that, compared to his, were entire too wide. With her elven patience and human ambition, she smoothed out each piece until it matched her vision perfectly. Every link in a chain must be identical, every shape precise, and if she accidentally dented a bit that she wasn't currently working on, she would start it all over without a word of complaint.

Xaar's friendship with Isibeal soon blossomed into a romance. Though Isibeal was talented, her career was new – it was only through her apprenticeship with the armorer that she ever could have afforded the raw materials for her creations. No one had ever expressed so much admiration for her work before, let alone interest in her as a person. She fell for Xaar fast and hard.

But despire Xaar's admiration for Isibeal's work, he still fully intended to betray her. This was not as cruel, from Xaar's point of view, as it sounded. "Romantic" relationships had never been about loyalty, to Xaar. In Drow society, relationships were about the desires of the female. The only benefit a male could hope to gain from entanglement with a female (aside from, if you will excuse my saying, base pleasures) was whatever fleeting increase in social standing that came from association with her. And even that was not guaranteed. It had never occurred to Xaar that two lovers could actually care for one another, let alone that a female could love and cherish a male. He interpreted Isibeal's kindness as a cruel game. She would betray him eventually, he reasoned, if he didn't betray her first.

When they had been courting for a month, Xaar received a letter in the mail. It was a card from Isibeal, which read:

Dearest Xaar,

Happy one-month anniversary! I'm sorry I'm too busy with work to meet up with you today, but I wanted to tell you how much I love you. My life is so much better now that you're in it, and I can't wait to spend many more wonderful days together. I made you a gift! You have the key to my heart! (Come see me when you can; I have a surprise for you!)

Love,

Isibeal

And along with the card was a beautiful, ornate key, threaded with a delicate golden chain. It was then that Xaar realized his mistake: Isibeal really _did _care about him. He saw how dedicated she was to her craft. She would never put so much time and effort into creating something for _him _– not unless he truly meant something to her. He thought back on all her smiles, all her kind words that he'd thought to be empty flattery, and realized they were sincere. And now that he knew the kind of person Isibeal really was, he realized, he liked her, too. He _loved _her.

He was overcome with horror when he thought of all the information he had already fed back to the Zhentarim. He quickly shared his new realizations with Sapiqu, and the brothers together went to Isibeal to confess to her, and begin to fix their mistakes.

But it was too late. When they got the armorer's shop, Isibeal and her master were both already dead, murdered by the Zhentarim. They'd overhead the brothers' conversation, and were laying in wait for the brothers, ready to spring out at them while they were crying over the bodies. The brothers tried to fight, at first. But there were too many. Finally, they made the decision to retreat, and split up.

"I never saw Sapiqu again," said Xaar, face darkened by angst (as well as the literal lack of lighting. They were in his room, in his guild's headquarters, which were in the sewers.) "I ventured to Waterdeep many times to look for him, but never found any hint as to where he might be. The Zhentarim must have gotten to him before I could. I lost my brother and my love that day. Since then, I have known only darkness. My only aim has been revenge on the Zhentarim."

Adriel watched, agape, as Sapiqu finished the story. He _did _understand the darkness in her soul! She didn't know how she could possibly fit into the story he'd just told, but he _had _to be her father.

"You think your key could open my locket?" asked Adriel.

She held out her locket at the same time that Xaar withdrew from where it was tucked under his collar a key on a chain. The key was not even close to the same size as the key that could open that locket. It looked like it was designed to open a door. They tried to fit the key into the locket, anyway, and both felt stupid afterwards.

"Still," said Xaar, staring off into space, "you have such a finely-crafted locket and you were left in an orphanage so close to the last time I saw Isibeal. It can't be a coincidence. What if… what if it was a trick? She could still be alive!" He turned to Adriel suddenly, as if he'd suddenly remembered he was talking to her. "What's your name?"

"A-" Adriel began, then suddenly felt embarrassed. She didn't know if "Adriel" was actually a Drow name, even though it sounded like one. What if it meant something stupid in Drow? Still, she refused to go by _Adora_. "Addy," she finished.

"Addy," he repeated, smiling widely. "You do look a little like me. I can see myself in your eye shape, maybe a little bit in your nose. …I may not be your father, but I'll help you get to the bottom of this. Maybe there is still is something left for me in this world, something besides revenge." He let his hood fall as he turned away, revealing all the tattoos of eyes on his face.

"I like your tattoos," said Addy.

He looked back at her, as though he'd forgotten about them. "They are the symbol of the Xanathar Guild. I joined the Xanathar Guild because they are the enemies of the Zhentarim. I've been all over the world, hunting down Zhentarim agents. But I know the Xanathar Guild are not good people, either. It's only a matter of time before someone else kills me for my association with them. When that time comes, I will accept it as my chance to finally rest."

"That's dark," Addy said admiringly.

"The destiny of my heritage is to stay in the darkness. That destiny clings to me, even here on the surface."

Addy committed his words to memory. Later, she would ask him if she could use them in a song. For now, she asked, "So. What do you think happened to Isibeal? I mean, if you saw her body…"

"She may have been resurrected," Xaar reasoned. "She had not been dead for such a long time when I found her. Perhaps the Harpers paid for a cleric to revive her."

"Er, but if she was pregnant, would that resurrect the baby too?" asked Addy. She was no wizard and she _definitely _wasn't religious, but it didn't seem like a revival spell would work that way.

"I'm not sure," said Xaar. "She may not have been dead at all, though. It could have been a trick. She might have escaped! The body may have been an illusion planted by the Zhentarim, to throw me off-guard. And if I were her, and I were a Harper, and the Zhentarim found out who I was – I would-" Suddenly his eyes grew wide.

"What?"

"Change my identity," said Xaar. "Addy, after a few days of hiding from the Zhentarim, I saw my disguise was fading, so I went home and tried to get my disguise potion. Turned out, everything of value – including the potion – had been stolen. I thought the Zhentarim had taken it. What if it was Isibeal? She'd been in my room before; she might have recognized it! What if she's been living in disguise all this time?" He sprang to his feet. "I know where to look! Come with me."

After the death of Isibeal and her master, the armorer's shop had been bought, equipment and all, by another armorer. Xaar hoped that the new armorer would have information about the former owner and his apprentice, or that some clue had been left behind. It seemed a stretch, but there were no other leads. The two maybe-relatives walked down the cobblestone streets with their hoods up, although that didn't entirely eliminate the glares and fearful reactions they got. While they walked, they got to know each other better through awkward but hopeful small talk.

Xaar asked Addy a lot of questions. Like, what was her favorite color, and what she liked to do in school, and what she wanted to be when she grew up. From anyone else, she wouldn't like to answer these questions, but Xaar seemed like he actually cared about her answers, so Addy liked the attention. She got to show off her uniqueness. So she gladly answered him:

"Black, because my heart is shrouded in darkness."

"Write poetry, even though my stupid teacher says my poetry is 'violent' and 'not appropriate for school.' She's just jealous because I know more about poetry than she does. Like, the part about impaling people and eating their hearts was a metaphor! You think a writing teacher would know that!"

"Ugh… whatever. I hope I don't survive to adulthood in this cruel world that I don't belong in."

Her last response seemed to make Xaar sad. "Is it really so terrible even for you, who are only half Drow? If so, I'm sorry that I – I mean, _if _I – brought you into a world where people are so cruel. But on the other hand, perhaps selfishly, I'm glad I met you."

Addy felt herself blushing. "I'm glad I met you too. Don't feel bad."

"If I may ask," Xaar said, "what is your home life like? Did you grow up in the orphanage?"

"No," Addy said with a bit of a scowl. "I was adopted."

Xaar was simultaneously relieved and sad about that. He was glad she didn't grown up in an orphanage, but sad at her tone of voice when she spoke about her adoptive parents. "What is your family like? Are they good to you?"

Addy frowned. "They're, like… okay, I guess." Normally she would say they were terrible, but she got the feeling that Xaar's parents were way worse than her own, so she'd feel awkward complaining about them. "I mean, like, they love me, but they just don't understand me! They don't even try. You know why I ran away?"

He shook his head.

"My teacher told my mom about my 'inappropriate' poetry, and my parents read my diary! Can you believe that? They found out all my secrets, everything! I got home from school, and my parents had my diary and my mom was like, 'We need to talk!' I was like, 'No way, I'm never talking to you again!'" A few tears gathered in Addy's eyes. She blinked them free.

Xaar put a hand on her shoulder. "It sounds like your parents read your diary because they were worried about you."

"I don't care. If they were worried, they should have asked me! Not gone behind my back," Addy declared.

"Maybe so," said Xaar. "Still, they seem like truer parents than my own, even if they did not give birth to you. Even if you find your real parents here – I think you should return home soon. They must still be worried."

Addy glared and crossed her arms. "So, you don't want me either?"

"No!" said Xaar. "That's not true. If it turns out that you are my daughter, I'll write you letters every week, every day perhaps! But I sympathize with your parents. I know what it's like when family disappears."

Addy was quiet. After she'd calmed down enough to stop sniffling, she said, "My parents are always telling me 'We're your real parents, even though you're adopted' – blah, blah, blah. I know that. But I still want to know where I come from."

"That's understandable," said Xaar. He slung a hand around Addy's shoulders She leaned into him, and they walked like that, like they already knew themselves to be family, the rest of the way.

Xaar had not been able to bring himself to return to the armorer's shop since Isibeal's death. It had been given a new paintjob, and the shop name engraved on the lower roof was "Borg's and Brightly's Art and Armor." Xaar's heart thumped as he knocked politely on the door, then slowly opened it.

"Welcome!" a male voice called from inside.

It was a Halfling. In fact, it was the _same _Halfling Addy had met a few weeks ago. Addy stared. The Halfling smiled politely back, then his eyes narrowed as they noticed Xaar and his eye tattoos.

"Can I help you?" the Halfling asked icily.

"I'm looking for information about a woman named Isibeal. She worked here thirteen years ago."

The Halfling's eyes narrowed. "I've owned this shop for only twelve years. She would've been working for a totally different business."

"But have you heard of her?" Xaar insisted. "I'm an old friend of hers!"

Suddenly, Addy remembered the conversation between the Halfling and the Half-orc. The Half-orc had referred to the Halfling by name: Isaac. And Isaac sounded an awful lot like…

"Isibeal!" said Addy. "_You're _Isibeal, aren't you!"

Isaac blanched. "Gromp!" he called. Heavy footsteps came from upstairs.

"You faked your death and went into hiding! But you wouldn't give up your jewelry-making; it was the most important thing to you! So you went back to work in the exact shop you worked at before – but in disguise as a male Halfling! When you had a baby, you had no chance of keeping it without blowing your disguise, so you left it at an orphanage."

"You're crazy!" Isaac shouted, clearly shaken.

Gromp, the Half-orc, appeared by Isaac's side. "What's wrong, son?" he asked.

"Don't be afraid!" the Drow said. "We won't tell anyone your secret. This is Addy, your daughter. And I – " he looked at the ground, "I am Xaar, who betrayed you all those years ago. I have regretted it every moment of every day since. Please, won't you forgive me?"

"It can't be!" said Isaac.

"I know I don't deserve to be forgiven," Xaar continued, "but please understand, I had meant all along to make things right! If there's anything I can do – "

"No, I mean it literally can't be!" said Isaac. "Yes. Yes, it's me, Isibeal. Congratulations – you found me. And that means I have to kill you." Isibeal drew her – his – sword. "But what you _think _happened can't be! It's impossible."

Xaar drew his daggers. "Isibeal, I have no desire to fight you!" he said. "I would lay down my life at your very request. But if you intend to harm this child, I will protect her with my life."

"Worry about yourself! The kid's in no danger." Isibeal swung her sword at Xaar.

Xaar dodged as Isibeal tried to swing at him. She got a few good hits in, but nothing that penetrated his armor. As Xaar tried to get closer with his daggers, Addy heard another crackle in her head. A sending.

"_Mom_!" she said before her parents could say anything. "Now's not the time! I found my real parents and they're, like, dueling."

"You found _what_!?" It was her father's voice. "Who _the hell_ is claiming to be your real parents? Where are you? Your mom and I are in Waterdeep, we're coming to get you right now!"

"Ugh – whatever, Dad, it's called Borg's and Brightly's. Come see my real dad; he's _way _cooler than you!" Adora wasn't too surprised that her parents had figured out she was in Waterdeep. Where else had they expected her to go?

"What? That place? Get out of –" A crackle, and the sending stopped. Adora returned her focus to the fight just in time to see Gromp, the half-orc, full-body tackle Xaar to the ground. Isaac (or was it Isibeal?) came up from behind and pointed his (her?) sword to his neck.

"This kill is mine, boss. It's personal," said Isibeal. Gromp slowly returned to his feet. Isibeal placed a firm foot on Xaar's back and used her sword to remove his hood. "Xanathar tattoos?" she said. "What do you figure? You're a traitor twice over, as well as a Drow."

"That I can't deny," said Xaar sadly. "But you should know they tried to kill me because I tried to rectify the mistake I made in lying to you. And you should know I left the Zhentarim because I thought they killed you. If you still want me dead, I can't begrudge you your vengeance. But please, don't kill me in front of our daughter. "

"You idiot!" Isibeal cried out in rage, slamming her sword down into the plywood floor centimeters from Xaar's nose.

Addy screamed. Gromp ran over to her and grabbed her from the arms from behind.

"I've told you," said Isibeal, "that isn't my daughter! If I'd ever given birth, I'm certain I'd remember it! I can't tell if you think I'm stupid enough to fall for such a trick, or if you, yourself, are the stupid one. We courted for a _month_. Then I was _murdered_. Now I'm a _male Halfling. _How could I have given birth to your child?"

Everyone was silent. Everyone was crying (except, maybe, Gromp, whose face Addy could not see.)

"But you're alive now," said Xaar. "I thought… thought you'd escaped."

"I didn't. Thanks to you," she said bitterly. "I still have nightmares about that day, you know? I was so excited. I was so in _love _with you. I'd been working on this beautiful chest, an order for a customer, but they suddenly couldn't pay and canceled their order. I thought it would be a shame not to finish it, and then I thought, I could finish it and give it as a gift for you. I couldn't wait to see your face when you saw it. I loved that face, how happy you looked every time you saw something I made. But it was a lie. It wasn't even really your face."

"Isibeal," Xaar said pleadingly.

"Your friends showed up. They killed my master right before my eyes. They told me the truth about you," Isibeal said. "And then they killed me. Stabbed me in the chest, just deep enough that I had no chance, shallow enough that I died slowly. When I was reincarnated, I vowed that if I ever saw you again, I'd kill you the exact same way."

"Oh, my god," Addy cried, "you're seriously about to kill him right now. Oh my god, stop. Help! Someone hel-" Gromp slammed her against his own body with one arm and used his other hand to clamp her mouth shut. She tried to break free, but it was no use. She wasn't strong enough. If only she hadn't ditched P.E. so much!

Completely helpless, Addy could only watch in horror as Isibeal used her sword to slice away at Xaar's clothing. "Of course," Isibeal said to herself, "my plan only works if a traitor like you has a heart to begin with. Where is it, hmm?"

Addy cried into Gromp's hand. "I'm gonna get the kid out of here," said Gromp to Isibeal.

But she didn't seem to have heard him. Suddenly she was staring at Xaar's bare chest, and a small metallic key shining brilliantly against his jet-black skin.

"A trick," said Isibeal. "You only kept it to manipulate me."

"No," said Xaar. "I have never taken it off since you gave it to me. I may have lied, but my feelings for you and my intentions today were true. I love you, Isibeal. I am sorry that being the target of my love has caused you so much pain."

Isibeal looked away from him. She clenched her fingers around her sword. Addy tried again to scream, and Xaar closed his eyes. Isibeal brought her sword to Xaar's chest.

And stopped. Tears streamed down her eyes. With trembling hands, she returned the sword to its scabbard, and stepped away.

An hour later, the damage from the swordfight had been mostly cleaned up. Gromp (who, it turned out, was also a Harper, and had been Isibeal's master before their dual murder and reincarnation) had offered Addy a hot meal and some extra change in return for helping him clean it. Isibeal and Xaar were on the second floor, having a long talk. They talked about where they'd been over the last thirteen years, and why Xaar had mistakenly thought Addy to be the product of his and Isibeal's relationship. He'd also shown Isibeal the necklace, but as it turned out, they were a popular item of which Isibeal had produced a great quantity; she had no memory of who might have bought Addy's particular one.

They came down when the last of the broken glass had been swept up. Xaar went over to Addy with an awkward smile on his face. "I'm sorry for dragging you into this," he said. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," said Addy. "It's cool. It's just…"

_Disappointing._ She didn't need to finish her sentence. The feeling was mutual. Her search had yielded nothing, and her parents were coming to drag her back home any minute now.

"Hey," said Xaar. "You know how I said if I was your father, we would keep in touch? I think we still should. You and I have a lot in common, I think. We could be good friends."

Addy tried to hide a smile. "Yeah. Sure." Addy sighed. "I mean, it was cool meeting you and all. I just wish I knew who my real parents were, too."

"We're you're real parents, Adora!" came a man's voice as the door swung open. In walked a tall human man with a long beard and a beer belly. He was followed by a mousy, whispy-haired human woman with a face that had been reddened by extended crying.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Hi, Mom and Dad," Addy said, blushing at the revelation of her real name. She blushed even harder when her mother sprinted forward to embrace her, bursting into even more tears.

"Oh, my baby!" she cried out, "you're safe!"

"Stop!" Addy whispered through her teeth, "you're embarrassing me! And call me _Addy_!"

But no one save her mother seemed to have noticed. After seeing that Addy was safe, her father's gaze immediately fell upon her new friend. "Xaar?" he said, in disbelief.

"It's just like we said," said Addy's mom. The whole group was sitting together at the dinner table, eating a meal of leftovers and stale cake that had been bought at the nextdoor baker for a discount before it closed for the evening. Isibeal and Gromp had certainly not expected so much company, but it was a hearty meal, not in the least because of the jovial attitude of the newly-reunited family. "We're your real parents."

Addy swallowed some cake and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know." She looked at her father, who had dismissed his human disguise and was lost in conversation with Xaar. "I just thought that meant you were my real parents because you raised me. Obviously."

"And even if we really had adopted you," said Addy's mom, "we would be your real parents because of that. But we are both your real _and _biological parents. We were going to tell you, when we read some of your poetry about not knowing who you really were. We never knew the question was weighing on you so much, or we would have told you sooner. …Your poetry was amazing, by the way. That teacher of yours is just too dull-witted to appreciate it."

Addy's face darkened. "Thanks. But you are _not _forgiven for reading my diary! I didn't give you permission!"

"I'm sorry!" her mom said, looking honestly ashamed. "We were just worried! The way your teacher described your writing, it's like you'd made a hit list or something! As soon as I realized what it really was, I felt bad about reading it."

Addy grunted. She supposed she would forgive her mother, but she'd still sulk about it a little bit first.

Addy fumbled with the locket around her neck as she mulled over the overwhelming amount of information she had to process. It hadn't been easy to piece together the story, but Addy supposed she understood now. After Sapiqu and Xaar separated trying to flee from the Zhentarim, Sapiqu had gone back to get the disguise potion, and Xaar had hid away in the sewers, eventually joining the Xanathar's Guild. Xaar waited around for a sign, and Sapiqu became a person who dressed up in a sausage costume passing out bits of sausage to passers-by, assuming that at some point he'd see his brother among the crowds. Sapiqu waited around in Waterdeep for several years, always in his human disguise, during which time he'd met Addy's mother, hooked up with her, created a child, and fallen in love. When the child came out obviously half-Drow, Sapiqu had to explain his true identity to Addy's mother. But he couldn't explain his identity to everyone – he couldn't attract such attention while hiding under the Zhentarim's noses. On the other hand, that left her mother completely at a loss about how to explain Adora's heritage.

So the family laid low for a few days, then told everyone they had a miscarriage, but that they'd wanted a baby so badly they adopted a different one at an orphanage. When Adora started to grow older, she started to realize she was different than everyone else. In order to make the topic of adoption seem more like a positive thing, they built a mystery around it to make it exciting, and presented it to Adora in the form of a homemade fairy tale storybook.

And it had worked, Addy thought, as she continued to fidget with her locket. She'd liked the idea of there being a big mystery to her existence. As far as the locket itself went, her mother had found it on the ground and thought it would make a good prop. They'd left Waterdeep soon after, for a smaller town with a finite amount of neighbors who would learn to accept their unusual family.

"I suppose it should go without saying that you're grounded," said her mother cheerily.

Addy rolled her eyes.

"But," she continued, "it won't be too terrible. We'd never have found your uncle if it weren't for you. I'm sure your father will be grateful when he stops feeling worried."

"You know how you can make it up to me?" Addy asked.

"I'm not going to bribe the doctor to forge a note to get you out of P.E., Adora."

"I know, I know! What I was going to say is," Addy gestured towards her father, who was getting tipsy and giggling like a little girl at things that weren't funny. She then gestured towards her mother. "Never let the truth get out. I do _not _want people to know I'm related to you."


End file.
